


The First Birthday

by galerian_ash



Category: Tekken
Genre: Established Relationship, Fights, M/M, Opening Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: A fight leads to a few revelations.





	The First Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Tekken 7 will be released in a couple of days, and I couldn't be more excited! So I thought that dusting off my old Tekken fics would be a good warm-up :)

"When were you planning on telling me?"

Jin looked up as he closed the door behind him. He was frowning, no doubt in response to the odd greeting he'd just been given. His obvious confusion only made Hwoarang more pissed.

"When it was too late to do anything about it, or maybe you weren't going to let me know at all? Think I can't afford to get you anything that you'd actually want, is that it?" That last comment was unfair and he knew it — Jin wasn't greedy or materialistic in the least — but the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

But Jin didn't seem affected; he just slowly took off his jacket and shoes. "What are you talking about?"

"What day is it today?!" Hwoarang snapped.

The frown deepened. "Monday."

"That's not what I meant! It's your _birthday_ , dammit."

Silence.

"What? You saying it's not? What the hell... Xiaoyu called, saying-"

"No," Jin cut him off. The look of confusion had disappeared, only to be replaced by a complete lack of interest. "I hadn't realized, but so it is."

Hwoarang stared. "Are you kidding me? I didn't know you were the forgetful type. Well then, uh... I shouldn't have..." he trailed off, feeling like an idiot for getting upset over nothing. Jin hadn't intentionally neglected to tell him, after all.

Normally, Jin would've understood the unvoiced apology. He was used to that from Hwoarang, and always responded in kind — offering that special, tiny smile of his as a sign that everything was okay.

There was no such response now. His lips were set in a grim line, and his entire body was rigid.

Still, Hwoarang had to try. "Anything in particular you want to do? We could eat out — my treat! You'll have to wait for an actual present though, obviously."

"No. There's no reason to celebrate."

"Huh?"

"Just forget about it, please." It might've been worded as a request, but the way it was delivered made it nothing short of an order. Jin's eyes were narrowed, fists clenched as if in preparation for a fight.

"Run that by me one more time — coupled with an actual explanation."

"Like I said, there's just no reason to celebrate."

Hwoarang stared as Jin began walking towards the bathroom. They were both new to the whole 'relationship' _thing_ , but it didn't take a genius to know that the impulse to tackle Jin and beat an explanation out of him wasn't the right way.

He took a deep breath instead, grounding himself. "Jin. Hey, come on."

This time, Jin didn't disappoint him; the words left unsaid were heard. He stopped, body relaxing slightly. Despite that, his arms were crossed by the time he turned around to face Hwoarang. At least it wasn't a battle stance.

"Birthdays used to be..." he began, haltingly. "It was just me and my mother; nobody else. It doesn't feel right to do it without her. I'd rather forget about it altogether."

Hwoarang understood. He really did. Jin had been really close to his mother, and had lost her prematurely — it only made sense that he continued to grieve the loss. Still, it _hurt_.

It hurt like hell, knowing that he wasn't good enough for Jin to consider him family.

Without conscious thought, he headed for the door. As his fingers were reaching for the door handle, Jin's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Wait, I said. Where are you going?"

Hwoarang turned, twisting out of the hold with more force than strictly necessary. Jin withdrew his hand, something flashing by in his eyes that Hwoarang didn't care to decipher.

"What do you care?" he spat. "I'm not needed here, that much is clear." Hwoarang regretted the words instantly. He was supposed to be a fighter, not a needy brat.

Quickly debating his options, he decided to lie in order to not reveal just how pathetic he truly was. "I'm sorry that she's dead. But at least you knew her, you ungrateful asshole."

Jin looked as stunned as Hwoarang felt. He hadn't meant to say anything even remotely like that — it wasn't a lie, and only served to make him look more pathetic.

Taking advantage of Jin's frozen state, he fled.

\----

Finding some street punks to pick a fight with was easy — he knew their mindset firsthand, after all. Finding someone to give him a half-decent fight was another story.

Hwoarang sidestepped a wild punch, frustrated over the lack of challenge. Not even in a group were these guys worth his attention. He just wanted to get Jin out of his head, but fighting didn't seem to be the answer. No wonder, really, considering that Jin had been his motivation for so long.

"Stand still, you coward!"

Stiffening, Hwoarang glared at his attacker. "Take your best shot, then. I won't dodge."

With a roar, the guy charged. Hwoarang palmed his fist with ease, before leaning forward to give him a condescending smirk. "See? That didn't help you."

A metallic sound, coming from behind, prompted Hwoarang to quickly knock him out. Ducking low to avoid the potential attack, he spun around.

Jin was standing behind him, a thug — still grasping a lead pipe — lying at his feet.

Slowly straightening up, he fought the urge the lash out. It'd be so easy to give in to the anger and take offense at Jin's actions; interfering in Hwoarang's fight, as if he wasn't even good enough for _that_. But he knew the truth, knew he'd just be masking the real issue.

Besides, Jin had only been watching his back. He'd been distracted and hadn't taken the fight seriously at all. Baek's berating voice echoed in his head, vanquishing the last remnants of anger.

So he simply nodded his thanks before walking out of the alley.

He didn't need to turn around to know that Jin was following him. But it wasn't his steady presence that bothered Hwoarang. No, what bothered him were the feelings it evoked — a sense of familiarity, comfort, _safety_.

He didn't need those feelings, and most certainly didn't want them. He'd fended for himself for as long as he could remember. Even Baek, who'd single-handedly saved him from what would've probably been an early death in the streets, had never made him feel that way. So for Jin — Jin who evidently didn't see Hwoarang as someone worthy enough to even spend his birthday with — to bring such feelings to the surface... It was just unacceptable.

Unacceptable, but nonetheless true.

The harsh light from a nightclub's neon sign felt like a salvation. He pushed his way into the crowded club, letting the loud music wash over him with a feeling of relief. Jin _hated_ such places, so there was a good chance he'd just drop the stalking.

Hwoarang made his way to the bar, glad to see that most of the stools by the disk were unoccupied. He could do without some stranger trying to strike up a conversation.

The bartender was busy trying to charm one of his female customers, but Hwoarang didn't care. "Soju," he yelled, making damn sure his order would be heard over the din.

The bottle was slammed down in front of him with enough force to almost break it. Hwoarang returned the bartender's glare, smirking when the burly man backed down.

"Need a glass?" he grumbled.

Hwoarang grabbed the bottle and downed a third of it in response. "Might as well give me one more," he said.

As the bartender went to get another bottle, Hworang felt someone brush up against his side. Annoyance that some idiot would choose the stool next to his — when there were plenty of other free ones — made him turn with a growl, more than ready to give the guy a piece of his mind.

Jin met his eyes with utter calmness.

They looked at each other in silence till the bartender returned. He set down the bottle for Hwoarang and then turned to Jin. "What can I get you?"

"No need, I'm fine."

"Then piss off. The bar is for customers."

Deep down, Hwoarang knew that he shouldn't let the remark provoke him. Still, it got under his skin. "Hey," he snarled, "he's with me. So why don't _you_ piss off?"

Apparently not thinking it worth a fight, the bartender slunk off. Hwoarang glowered at his retreating back until Jin's voice turned his attention away from it.

"Thank you," he said.

And that was the thing about Jin. He said shit like that so _easily_. Apologies, too — acting as if there was no shame in it. Hwoarang had never been able to say 'thanks' or 'sorry' like Jin could. Somewhere along the way he'd convinced himself that he didn't need to; that it was a matter of pride.

But that was a piss-poor excuse, wasn't it? For Jin had pride, and rightfully so.

A sense of urgency clogged Hwoarang's throat, making it hard to breathe — much less speak. But it was now or never. He'd lied to himself for way too long, and if he was ever going to kick the habit and manage to open up it had to be _now_.

He turned to Jin, focusing on his golden brown eyes. This time, he didn't fight the feelings that Jin's presence evoked. He accepted them with an unfamiliar sense of peace. Thus calmed, the words left his mouth by their own volition.

"I was about a year old when I was left at the orphanage."

Jin's eyebrows drew together, and Hwoarang hurried to cut him off before he could speak. "No, don't get me wrong, I'm actually happy about that. Because that means they at least _tried_."

Jin wasn't much of a talker. Once, when he'd been nothing but a rival, that had bothered Hwoarang. It had grated on his nerves, that damn silence — never being able to tell what was going on behind that stoic face. But as the years passed and their relationship became something more, Hwoarang had learned.

Now, he knew that Jin spoke in ways other than words. It was there in the way he leaned closer, letting their shoulders bump together in a silent encouragement to continue talking. It was an anchor, one Hwoarang was more than happy to latch onto.

"It wasn't a bad place, not really. I mean, I hated it there, sure, but looking back I can see that it wasn't half as bad as it could've been. Still, I did hate it — and, more than anything else, I hated my so-called birthday."

He paused to take a few gulps of Soju. Jin waited patiently, gaze never straying from Hwoarang.

"They wrote it down as being the day they found me. Which makes sense, I guess, but it just didn't seem like much to celebrate, you know? It was just a bitter reminder of the day my parents gave up on me. I made it a point to forget the date, after I finally got out of there."

Forcing a smile he didn't really feel, Hwoarang turned to Jin. "And that's all there is to tell about my sordid past."

Apparently the happy act didn't fool Jin for a second. "How _did_ you get out?"

Hwoarang grimaced. "I ran away," he mumbled, and — forestalling the question that was sure to come — continued, "I lived on the streets for a while, rigging fights."

At the indirect mention of how they'd met, Jin's lips curled into a smile. "That how you met Baek, too?" he asked.

He winced at the memory. "Yeah, and there it was no draw, trust me!" Hwoarang snorted. Not knowing what else to say, he toyed with his near-empty bottle of Soju.

"I'll leave now."

Hwoarang felt a pang of disappointment and loneliness. But he pushed away the weakness immediately, so fast that it was as if it'd never been there in the first place.

Not fast enough for it to pass Jin by, however. He extended a hand to give Hwoarang's shoulder a squeeze. "Come home soon. I'll be waiting for you."

It was strange, but that one simple word — _home_ — gave him a warm feeling in his gut that far outstripped the one created by the alcohol.

\----

It wasn't like him to fear anything, and so he pushed down the nervous hesitation — blaming it on the Soju — and opened the door to the apartment.

It was dark and silent, and for a moment relief battled with disappointment before Hwoarang managed to push that down, too. It was logical, after all; it was late, and there was really no reason for Jin to stay up. Dragging a hand through his hair, he eyed the couch. He should probably sleep there tonight, avoid waking Jin and all.

...Except that was another excuse. Going back to the easy way out, the cowardly man's refuge.

So Hwoarang grit his teeth and headed for the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, an invitation as good as any. He stepped inside, and froze. Despite the darkness he could clearly see the outline of Jin, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. Frowning, he reached for the light switch.

"Wait, don't turn on the light." Jin's voice sounded oddly... unsure? It made no sense, but Hwoarang did as told. Before he could ask what was going on, the sound of a match broke the silence, as a tiny flame lit up the dark. The light grew, as Jin moved the match — lighting up two small candles. Candles that were sticking up from a muffin.

Confused and at a loss for words, Hwoarang could only stare. Did Jin want to celebrate his birthday after all? He was shit out of luck if that was the case; Hwoarang still had no present to give, and it was probably past midnight to boot.

Before he could think of what to say, Jin spoke up. "Stay," he said.

The request made little sense at first, then Hwoarang realized how tense he was — hell, he was halfway to dropping into a defensive crouch. No wonder Jin thought he was ready to bolt. It was funny, really, the thought that he could face the world's strongest fighters without blinking, but the mere thought of letting Jin down sent him into a near-panic.

"Come here."

He took the final few steps across the bedroom to sit down beside Jin. Upon closer inspection he could see that the muffin was somewhat squished. It made him smile; the thought of Jin, waiting for him, nervous enough to not notice that he was squeezing the hell out of it.

"I know it's not pretty," Jin muttered, "but they didn't really have a lot to choose from at this time of night."

And he was even embarrassed enough to lie about it! That was somehow even _more_ endearing, and Hwaorang felt his smile grow.

"Who cares what it looks like," he offered, throwing Jin a bone, "it'll taste the same, anyway."

Jin relaxed slightly. "Yeah," he said, nodding.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Hwoarang decided to push a bit. "So," he drawled, "what's this about, Jin? Did you change your mind?"

Silence. Then, "I was wrong."

"Huh?"

"I'm not alone anymore," Jin continued, as if that explained everything. "Mother is gone, but — I have you, now. I should have realized it sooner, I'm so-"

"No," Hwoarang cut him off, "don't apologize! I get it, seriously, it's okay."

Jin favored him with one of his small smiles, eyes warm and fond. "I know you do."

Feeling self-conscious, Hwoarang looked down at the makeshift birthday cake. "Well then, guess you should blow out the candles."

"Actually, I was hoping we could do it together."

Lifting his head, Hwoarang saw that Jin had that determined look on his face, the one he got whenever he was hellbent on something — regardless of whether it was actually a good idea or not.

"How do you mean?" he asked, a bit apprehensive.

"Share it with me, Hwoarang."

"The muffin?"

"Well, yes, that too," Jin replied, making a wry face. "I'm talking about the date itself — the birthday, _our_ birthday, if you want."

Hwoarang could only stare as that feeling of belonging grew inside of him.

Probably misinterpreting his silence, Jin continued. "You repressed the other date because you wanted it to mean something; a good memory instead of a bad one. So I thought..." Jin faltered, and the poor muffin became even more misshapen. Hwoarang was about to reply and put him out of his misery, when Jin pushed on. "You helped me see that I wasn't alone after all, and I want to return the favor."

There were many things Hwoarang wanted to say, but 'I love you' was something he wasn't quite ready to say — even if he knew damn well what it was he felt for Kazama Jin. So, in lieu of a better answer, Hwoarang went for something simple and direct. "On three?" he asked.

Jin understood, and simply nodded.

"One, two," they counted together, and then blew out the candles. The room was plunged into darkness, but the streetlights filtering through the blinds were enough to go by in order to reach out and pluck the muffin from Jin — who was no longer holding it in a death-grip.

"Let's save it for later, okay?"

Jin didn't answer in so many words, but the kiss he initiated said it all.


End file.
